


Close the Door, and I'll Open a Window

by Acting4Hope



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (specifically jerry), Absent Parents, Changeling Fitzroy, Character Study, Dreamscapes, Introspection, Memory Related, Psychological Warfare, Strained Relationships, blink and you'll miss it amounts of maplekeene, i give fitzroy some lore and then beat him over the head with emotional issues, identity crisis, light body horror, not based on any events in episode 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24665674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acting4Hope/pseuds/Acting4Hope
Summary: This 60-40 isn’t working, I need 100 of your time. You’re mine.Or: Fitzroy takes a trip down Memory Lane, literally.
Relationships: Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt & Chaos
Comments: 9
Kudos: 82





	Close the Door, and I'll Open a Window

**Author's Note:**

> hello hi howdy, back again much sooner than anticipated!! i'm back on my fitzroy shit, finally putting out a fitzroy backstory that (hopefully) is as close to canon as i feel like getting while still clinging steadfastly to my [changeling fitzroy theory](https://lesbian--susie.tumblr.com/post/190924105810/okay-so-uhhhhhhhh-fitzroys-a-changeling-right). 
> 
> also!! this was inspired (and slightly based) on a comic that my lovely girlfriend @duck-duck-juice on tumblr made [so please look at it!!!](https://duck-duck-juice.tumblr.com/post/619868880875208704/i-do-love-chaos-i-love-the-possibilities) and the title (and italicized summary) itself comes from a line from the song [NEW MAGIC WAND by Tyler, the Creator](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2w8KUgIkAu8) which i recommend you vibe to before or during reading bc it fits really well
> 
> uhhh, besides that, chaos is super fun to write so if y'all like how i write them feel free to send me ideas!!! remember to kudos and comment if you fucked w this!!! hope ep 16 doesn't suck bc i haven't listened to it yet jrbghjgrbhrg
> 
> enjoy!

It’s hard not to feel paranoid, following the centaur assignment. Fitzroy thought he was being paranoid before--constantly locking doors, keeping the blinds shut at all times, communicating to his roommates some days only by way of notes--but after falling victim to a horrible curse, meeting the god (or demon?) that gave him the magic he so despises, and getting framed for _theft_ he was starting to feel a little justified in his inherent mistrust of everything around him. Of course, the centaur situation was resolved and Calhain was swiftly arrested for conspiring to start a war between the two groups and framing _college students_ for stealing a culturally-priceless apple. But that still didn’t make the ride back to campus anymore paranoia-inducing, nor did it make the next week he spent isolating himself in his room any better. 

What’s worse is that now Argo _hovers_ around him. Well, not _actually_ , but in the way of always being around whenever Fitzroy decides to leave his room. He can tell Argo’s concerned he’ll get cursed or die, even if he won’t admit it. Fitzroy has tried to convince Argo that he’s fine, the curse was temporary, _please_ don’t wait right outside the bathroom when I’m peeing it’s _very rude_ \--but Argo always finds some excuse for how he ends up at Fitzroy’s side. 

If any other series of events had preceded this change in behavior, Fitzroy would find it charming. To know that someone is willing to nearly miss their own class to walk him halfway across campus is... _nice_. Especially when that walk means Fitzroy gets to hear Argo’s laugh even longer and secretly relish in the closeness of their bodies as their hands nearly brush for the twentieth time. 

Unfortunately, Fitzroy _can’t_ find any of it nice because people freak him out now and he just wants to barricade himself in his room and wait out whatever wack bullshit is going on at this school. He’s been leaving for classes unpredictably so Argo won’t know when to be at his door waiting, and the minute he gets back from class he dashes to his room and locks the door so no one will try to engage in conversation. His visits to the cafeteria are few and at odd hours; sneaking in when not a lot of students are eating to smuggle back as much food as possible to his room. He’s been getting more and more threats from Rainer via magic notebook to come and eat with her and “the squad”, but he’s been adept at either ignoring her message or fabricating an excuse to get out of the interaction. 

He knows he’s worrying his friends, but right now all he can focus on is keeping himself alive. And given the fact that he _nearly died_ to a curse recently, he’s taking the time to make sure he can do that properly. 

The only solace he gets from his overactive senses and spiraling trains of thought is meditating. That special time of night when he gets to shut the world out, lay down, and let absolutely nothing come into his mind. His dreams in meditation used to be reality-warping and--if he’s being honest--a little scary. But since coming out of the curse, he’s found his dreams to be blissfully empty. A peaceful lack of stimuli to soothe his soul for a few hours before he has to get up and tackle the world again. It’s the only time he lets his guard down, nowadays. His safe-haven. 

It’s during one of those peaceful nights, right as Fitzroy’s pupils dilate and the world slips away, that he finds his safe-haven has been broken into by a familiar guest. 

\---

The first thing Fitzroy notices, when he comes to, is that he’s not in bed. This observation is what gets him to open his eyes and take in the scene around him. 

The second thing Fitzroy notices is that he’s not in his _room_ . Not in the living area of the Thudermen’s dorm, not in the cafeteria, not on the training grounds, not even on the floor outside Groundsy’s hut. He can’t be too sure he’s _anywhere_ near the school, as the forest around him looks unfamiliar. He’s seated on a bed of damp leaves surrounded by birch trees. The only constant between when he started trancing to now is that it’s night, but this night feels...ominous. There’s no moon in the sky, and the stars are hidden by ebony clouds. The air that blows past him is cold and foreboding. 

_Do you recognize this?_ Fitzroy shrieks as a voice whispers into his ear. He whips his head around to find the culprit, only to realize he’s the only one here. The voice is coming from within. 

“S-Show yourself!” he demands, his voice cracking. The wind blows again and Fitzroy can hear laughter through the trees. He flushes in frustration. “Hey! I-I do not appreciate the mockery!” 

_Oh, come now. Can’t I have a little fun?_ This time, the voice is more playful, and though it still unnerves Fitzroy, he manages a frown. 

“You can have your _fun_ once you reveal yourself to me and tell me where it is I’ve been taken! I-I have friends, you know! Friends with magic powers a-and swords! They’ll know I’ve been stolen away!” 

_Fitzroy, has it really been that long that you don’t_ recognize _me? I’m hurt!_ Fitzroy can see movement in front of him and zeroes in on it. The decrepit tree a few feet in front of him is shaking violently. Fitzroy leans back, subtly patting his pants to see if he left any sort of weapon on him, as part of the tree finally snaps. He watches, horrified, as a figure begins to peel themselves off of the tree, their skin made of gnarled wood. Though their form is different from the last time they met, Fitzroy notices the ribbons of pearlescent skin running alongside the woodgrain and knows _exactly_ who this is. 

“ _Chaos,_ ” he breathes out, like the words were stolen from his mouth. Chaos turns to face Fitzroy and grins, their razor-sharp teeth a stark contrast to the wooden form they wear. 

_Oh, goodie! You_ did _remember me!_ They cheer, clapping their hands together. _Tell me, did you like that little introduction? I was worried it might be a little...off-putting, but I can never turn down the opportunity for a show!_ They flourish their branch-like arms at that, barely giving Fitzroy time to respond before pouting and dropping their pose. _Come now, Fitzroy, what’s the matter? Termite got your tongue?_

“I-I--You, I--” Fitzroy fumbles with his words, still attempting to process the last thirty seconds. Chaos looks amused by this, which doesn’t help the matter. The wind blows past as Fitzroy tries to find the words, and he notices that Chaos’ hair (an asymmetrical mound of leaves) blows in the opposite direction of the wind. Out of all things, he is the least surprised by that. “Where am I?” 

_That’s your first question?_ Chaos asks, cocking their head to one side. _Not, “_ How have you been, Chaos? _” or, “_ What’s a day like in the life of Chaos? _” or even, “_ When can I pledge my allegiance to such a cool and benevolent deity, Chaos? _”_ Fitzroy rolls his eyes, causing Chaos to frown. _Oh, fine. You’re no fun._

“Well, pardon _me_ , if my concerns aren’t aligning with your preconceived notions of what they should be,” he replies, “I _did_ just sort of wake up from a peaceful meditation to find I’ve been kidnapped by a deity and taken to the middle of some dark woods. So, uh, I’m kind of zeroing in on _that_ issue first, and then we can exchange pleasant niceties as you take me back to my room and never bother me again.” Chaos laughs like crickets chirping and wipes a fake tear from their eye. 

_I forgot how delightful it is to speak with you,_ they note, _but I do suppose I can clear up a few things. The first of which being you are still in your bed at your school._ Fitzroy’s brows furrow and he looks down. Sure enough, the maroon silk pajamas he had thrown on before bed were still on him. _Consider this a sort of...liminal space. I did not take your body out of the school, but I’ve moved your consciousness to my domain._

“Sort of like how you came to me in my curse-induced coma?” 

_Exactly that!_ Chaos claps again, their smile impossibly wider. _I knew you’d catch on quickly. As for where this setting is? I had hoped you’d be able to answer that yourself, but perhaps I am misremembering the mental capabilities of mortals._ They reach out towards a nearby tree and run their spindly fingers down its surface. _I thought a little trip down Memory Lane might persuade you to my cause, that’s all! To answer your last statement, though, I will_ not _be leaving you alone any time soon, Fitzroy._ Their hand stops towards the base of the tree and slithers its way to Fitzroy, who scoots back reflexively. He backs himself into a tree and has to watch, disgusted and unnerved, as Chaos’ hand walks up his leg to poke him on the nose. 

_You’re my proudest achievement! My greatest weapon! You think I’m just going to leave you_ alone _? Where would you be without me, Fitzroy?_ They poke Fitzroy’s face a few more times, punctuating their points, before Fitzroy swats their hand away. It slithers its way back down and over until it rests at the length of their other arm. 

“Well, for starters, I would be in a time and place where I never had to witness _that_ happen,” Fitzroy explains, pointing an accusatory finger at their hand. “Secondly, I’d be...oh, where would I be...Oh, yes! That’s right! I’d be _a knight who completed their schooling at Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School without turning the headmaster into a catfish_!” Chaos levels him a look that shows how unamused they are by his antics. 

_You’re really hung up on that? After all the_ good _I’ve given you?_ They stand at their full height and approach Fitzroy, who scrambles into a standing position in case he needs to fight. _Also I find it...amusing that you think my introduction into your life was when you manifested your hate into that teacher…_ They pause, cocking their head to the side again at a degree humans could never. _You..._ really _don’t know where you are, do you?_ Fitzroy takes a moment and looks around, inspecting each element of the forest around him for any familiarities. Then, he shakes his head. Chaos laughs, this time the boom of thunder. 

_Oh, well don’t I have a surprise for_ you _, then!_ They raise their hand and snap their fingers, and suddenly Fitzroy can hear a new sound. It’s not the ambient sound of the forest, or the squelches and cracks the forest floor makes as he fidgets in place, but...hooves? There are horses nearby?

 _Did your parents ever tell you how they...came across you, Fitzroy?_ The question comes as a surprise to the half-elf, especially the wording. _What? I know you’re not your parent’s child. You can hide from the rest of the world, but I’m a_ deity _. I’m going to know these things._ Fitzroy’s face is flushed with embarrassment, but he can’t deny the logic. He crosses his arms and looks away, attempting to bring the memory to the surface. 

“They said I...was a traveler's child,” he recalls. “My father had found the traveler dying on the side of the road, and before they passed they asked that I be taken to someone who could raise me. My father agreed and took me, thinking he would go to the orphanage two towns away from our house, but...he became attached on the long ride home and just...decided to keep me…” He tries to shake off the image of his mother’s warm smile, hovering above him as she told him this story and tucked him into bed. Those were different times. Chaos smiles and nods. 

_Would it surprise you to know that they lied?_ Fitzroy frowns and says nothing. _Ah, so it doesn’t...That’s good! This makes_ my _version all the more fun to tell!_ The horses are getting closer, if the volume of hooves against dirt is anything to go by. Now that they’re closer, though, Fitzroy can hear the sound of wheels. A horse-drawn cart, then? Chaos seems to notice this, too, for they turn in the direction of it and giggle. _Oh! Our main event has nearly arrived! We wouldn’t want him to ‘miss his stop’, don’t we?_

“W-Who are you talking about..?” Fitzroy asks. Chaos looks over to him with that Cheshire smile and winks.

The next thing Fitzroy hears is the distinct sound of a wheel breaking, the horses panicked whinnying shortly following. The forest is deathly quiet as the gruff voice of an older man shouts curses. An unknown voice to the forest, but a familiar voice to Fitzroy. 

_Your mother wasn’t lying when she said your father found you, she just...didn’t get the ‘where’ part just right._ Chaos explains as the forest echoes the tired voice of Jerry Maplecourt directly into Fitzroy’s ears. He hasn’t heard that man’s voice in...the memory won’t even come to him, that’s how long it’s been. He doesn’t know whether he should run or cry or scream, so he does nothing. He stares and lets Chaos’s words fill his mind. 

_You think my influence only began at knight school, when in reality I’ve been here since the beginning! I may not have known_ why _I needed to keep tabs on you, but since your birth I’ve had my eye on you. You need not know who your birth parents were, by the way. They’re dead, in case you ever had that morbid curiosity to find them._ Chaos says, walking gracefully around the small clearing they’re in and gesturing wildly. _This moment, though, this little moment I’ve brought you to? This was my_ first _influence on your life. You see, your father has just ‘conveniently’ broken a wheel on the way back from a looooong caravan trip. And, right about now, he’s going to angrily unhitch his horses and ride the few miles back to town to deal with it in the morning._

Suddenly, the world shifts, and Fitzroy is now standing beside Chaos looking down at the damp leaves he came to sitting atop. In his place is a small bundle of fabric shifting ever-so-slightly every couple of seconds. The pieces come together as Chaos continues: 

_If he leaves now, you--and yes, that’s_ you _, right there--will die. And we can’t be having that, can we?_ Fitzroy looks wildly back-and-forth from his infant-self to Chaos. 

“W- _Wait_ , hold on a second. If--How am I--If I’m _here_ , how am I a baby right _there_?” Chaos lays an uncomfortably long hand on his shoulder and tuts. 

_I told you before, this is a sort of dream-scape. Kind of like...hmmm, how do I put this...Do you know the story, A Candlenights Carol?_

“You mean with the shriveled old man and the three freaky ghosts?” 

_Yes! Think of where we’re at like how that story works. We’re looking at your past from another perspective! A perspective I can still manipulate, of course, but your existence doesn’t have any influence on your past. These things have all already happened, you see!_ They clap in delight again, a feat given the hand still on Fitzroy’s shoulder. He should be disturbed by this, but by this point it’s just par for the course. _Oh, he’s about to unhitch his horse! Time for a little distraction~_

At that, lightning strikes the tree behind the baby, causing it to topple over in flames. It doesn’t hit the baby, but it does cause the baby to cry and scream loudly. Fitzroy watches the scene in horror. 

“Are you saying you almost _killed me_ just to get his attention!?” Fitzroy guffaws. Chaos shrugs.

_You didn’t die, though._

“You’re goddamn _lucky_ I didn’t! Holy shit!! You could have burned me to death with a tree!! Or--Or squashed me!! There are, like, thirty different trees you could have chosen to strike, Chaos! What the hell!?” Fitzroy shoves at Chaos but finds his hands can’t make purchase on their body. They smile mischievously at him. 

_Yes, but this is more fuuuuuun~ Plus, it gives your father--_ The sound of footsteps gets increasingly closer-- _more incentive to come retrieve you!_

In a matter of seconds, a figure enters the space. Fitzroy feels his heart stop and his palms get clammy when he sees Jerald Maplecourt’s gruff features. He looks nearly the same as Fitzroy remembers, his hair a bit more brown than it used to, and his beard a mere stubble along his cheekbones. Jerry locks eyes with Fitzroy’s baby-self and quickly grabs him and runs away from the burning tree. Fitzroy’s eyes follow his father out of the clearing, and just as he gets the instinct to run after him, he finds himself next to the caravan and watching his father run through the treeline back to his horse. Jerry climbs onto the horse (Fitzroy can see the horse, now, and recognizes it as Cherrywine--the first horse he ever rode) and looks down at the baby as he catches his breath. His eyes widen again as he takes in Fitzroy’s features. 

“ _Gods_ ,” Jerry’s low, country-dipped voice breathes out. “What...What _are_ you?” 

The question leaves Fitzroy cold. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, but it also technically is. 

_A rather dumb question, if you ask me_ , Chaos remarks, pulling Fitzroy from his daze. He looks up at Chaos quizzically. Their gaze is forward, watching Jerry hold the baby close as he rides Cherrywine down the street. _Even a small-town nobody should know from first glance that you’re a_ \-- 

“--changeling.” Deardra’s voice completes the thought, and Fitzroy is immediately aware of the setting shift. No longer outside, the warmth of the fireplace in the living room fills Fitzroy with a sense of...home. And then he looks around and notices he _is_ home--his childhood home, that is. A quaint-looking farmhouse surrounded by farmland, miles and miles from the closest city. He’s standing in the dining room, which is darkened, looking through the doorway into the kitchen. He turns to ask Chaos why he’s been brought here, only to find they’re gone. The voices continue to speak, hushed tones against harsh tones, as Fitzroy ventures to see what’s going on. He tiptoes forward and peeks inside. 

Deardra Maplecourt is seated on a stool by the counter, feeding an infantile Fitzroy through a bottle typically used to feed baby cows. Judging from the cloth still wrapped around the baby and the moonless night outside the window, Fitzroy assumes this is the very same night. Jerry Maplecourt paces around the kitchen, obviously over-worked and under-slept, and turns to face Deardra. 

“What the _hell_ are we gonna do with a--a _changeling_ baby?” He questions, the word “changeling” foreign to his mouth. Deardra shrugs. 

“Why don’t we try _raising_ him?” she suggests, sarcasm coating her tongue. Current-day Fitzroy snickers at his mother’s burn. “That seems to be what all the _other_ hip young parents are doing with babies, nowadays.” Jerry huffs.

“That’s not what I _mean_ , honey. I mean what are _we_ gonna do with a changeling baby? Do you _know_ how superstitious this town is? They barely stand _you_ living around here, and yer an elf!” Fitzroy winces at that; though it’s sad that this town was so backwards, he does have vivid memories of the strange looks he’d get even being a half-elf, let alone if he...if he-- 

“Well, I don’t give a damn what the town thinks of me _or_ this baby,” Deardra retorts, gently pulling the bottle away when the milk is gone. She begins to bounce baby Fitzroy in her arms, staring down at him fondly. “I think he’s a blessing from the gods, and I’ll be damned if I let the court of public opinion decide what the gods want for this family.” Jerry watches her for a moment before sighing and slumping against the stove. Deardra looks up at him. “How long have we been trying for a baby, do you think?” Jerry thinks for a moment, his bushy brows furrowed. 

“Ah..I think it was--” 

“-- _Three years_ , Jerald. Three miserable, heart-wrenching, emotionally tolling years.” Deardra says, a fire in her eyes. “And do you remember what the doctor said to me, four months ago?” Jerry winces and looks away. “ _Yeah_ . They said I can’t _have_ a _baby_ , Jer. So do you _honestly_ believe that I’m going to turn this baby away--this beautiful, young, baby boy--just because he’s not a _human_ ? Or an _elf_ ? Frankly, Jerry, he could be a goddamn _horseman_ for all I give a shit. He’s our _son_ , now, and that’s _final_.” Jerry huffs and pushes himself off the stove. 

“ _Fine_ . That’s _fine_ , Deardra, that’s all well and good by me.” He walks away as he says this, but then stops. “But what about your _parents_ ? Do you think they’ll even let us in their _house_ if we come in with anything that isn’t a half-elf baby? Your family _already_ hates me because I’m not an elf, but to come in there with a baby that has not a single drop of Maplecourt blood? They’ll take your inheritance away, honey! And _then_ how are we gonna raise a kid?” Deardra pauses her bouncing at this, staring down at the baby with a grim expression. Fitzroy watches the eyes of his mother ponder the reality of their situation. “They wouldn’t even let me keep my _last name_ , that’s how _badly_ they care about their bloodline. This is _not_ gonna go good with ‘em!” 

Deardra stares at baby Fitzroy for a long moment before an idea dawns on her. 

“Then...Then they don’t have to _know_ this isn’t our baby.” She says, her voice determined. Jerry stares at her, confused. 

“...The hell you mean by that?” 

_What she means is that you would stop looking like_ you _, and start to look more like their son._ Fitzroy jolts at the sound of Chaos’s voice in his ear again as the scene in front of him moves in double-time. Days pass in the span of seconds as he watches the couple move around the room with their new baby. 

_You see, your mother was not a dull lightbulb. She had years of one of the finest educations money can buy under her belt, so she knew what changelings were capable of. The power to manipulate their own appearance, making them look...entirely new._ The scene slows and Fitzroy watches his mother finish a drawing in her large sketchpad, holding it up to the baby resting on a bed of cushions on the counter. The baby stares at it for a long moment, and in seconds his face matches the picture. Deardra stares at this version of her son and shakes her head, flipping to a new page to begin drawing again. 

_Your mother knew that, in order to succeed, she had to get the perfect amalgamation of features. Something you could burn into your brain--something you could grow up into. She wanted this image to be so instinctual that you saw yourself only as that form, no other. But she_ also _needed you to look like her son, so the family wouldn’t be suspicious. You needed to look like a believable representation of what a birthed-version of you would look like._ As Chaos is explaining this process, Fitzroy watches this action done over and over again. Hours spent on one drawing, just to toss it aside when his baby-self turned into it. 

_It took a month of drawings for her to finally land on something she liked._ Chaos words slow the scene down, puts Deardra back in real-time as she erases a few stray marks from her page and looks down at it with pride. _By then, they had already decided on the name Fitzroy. Your father wanted you to be named something else, but your mother was stubborn on this name._

“It was the name of her grandfather…” Fitzroy recites numbly as he observes his mother in this moment. She smiles down at the portrait, then at her baby. 

“Alright, Fitzroy, let’s try this one on for size.” Deardra coos as she holds up the drawing. The infant Fitzroy stares for a glassy-eyed second before everything changes. His skin becomes a golden brown hue, with rosy red cheeks and a button nose. The light ghosting of hair atop his head turns a rich chocolate, and his eyes are now a beautiful blue. His ears sharpen to a small point as his features fit the image in front of him. Once the deed is done, Deardra looks at her son and cries tears of joy. 

_Fitzroy Jean-Paul Maplecourt,_ this _is your moment of conception._ Chaos announces, their voice drowning out the surrounding noise as Deardra holds her baby and cries. Fitzroy stares at the smaller him and feels a deep sorrow. _Why the long face, Fitzroy? This is what you’ve always_ wanted _, yes? To be seen as you are now?_

“W--Well, I--I suppose--” Fitzroy starts, but his words are cut off when the scene changes again. He now stands in the opulent entertainment room of his grandparents, a healthy amount of family members all around him. The sight of so many Maplecourts in one room nearly makes him sprint for the door, but then he remembers he’s not in control of this particular show so he stays put. Chaos, their form now visible to him, is dressed in elegant red fabrics with gold accents. Their form is angular and sharp, like diamonds, though its hue remains pearlescent. They have a pair of disturbingly long elf ears covered in a litany of piercings--all jewels with gold chains. They look...surprisingly fitting for a Maplecourt event, as opposed to his parents, who he can now see are seated on one of the plush loveseats. 

There are family members flanking either side of Jerry and Deardra, all leaned in and cooing at the baby in Deardra’s arms. She seems to be doing pretty well with the onslaught of family members, turning every which way to address her various aunts, uncles, and cousins to answer their questions regarding Little Fitzroy. Jerry, for his part, looks like he’d rather be anywhere other than in this room, looking only at the floor or to his wife and saying nothing. Fitzroy recognizes that awkwardness from the few family gatherings he attended with his father, and he doesn’t know whether he should feel bad for him or laugh in his face. 

_You recognize this place, surely?_ Chaos asks, now suddenly beside him. Fitzroy rolls his eyes and nods. 

“The Maplecourt family estate, how could I forget?” he replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “This is the birthplace of many a deeply-rooted emotional problem regarding my social status and general existence.” He wishes he could remember this place for its grand displays of wealth and superiority--especially given how he presents himself today--but for the most part his words stand true; he remembers less of what he saw and more of what he _heard_. 

_Ah, right. I forgot your whole family was shit._ Chaos notes. Fitzroy lets out a startled laugh at how blunt they say it. Chaos looks at him and laughs as well. _In case you were curious, this is the first time your family ever met you. Your mother never told them she couldn’t have a child, so they were never suspicious. Her mother complained she waited too long to introduce you to the family, but that ultimately wouldn’t matter, would it?_

And then, like so many times tonight, the scene shifts. They’re gathered in that same room, only the atmosphere is...off. Everyone’s dressed in black, and Fitzroy can spot a slightly older-looking him (couldn’t be older than nine or ten in human years) seated beside his mother; dutifully holding her hand and giving her a handkerchief whenever she needs to blow her nose. The memory of this day is vague in his own mind, but the scene in front of him helps jog his memory. 

“This is when Elder Maplecourt passed, yes?” Fitzroy asks, turning to find Chaos gone again. He shakes his head, unamused. “Why do I even bother being nice to them…” 

Fitzroy decides that standing and watching the same spot simply won’t do and goes to explore the house. He tries his best to be courteous of his many great-aunts and cousins walking by; but, since he doesn’t technically exist, they phase right through him. He leaves the main room and walks up the grand spiral staircase to the upper floors. The library on this floor had an aquarium Fitzroy remembers watching for hours instead of actually reading books, and he’s kind of curious to see if it’s there in this dreamscape. But he’s stopped in his quest by the sound of shouting muffled by expensive mahogany doors. He turns in the direction of the sound and follows. 

It leads him to the door of Elder Maplecourt’s study, a room Fitzroy was _never_ \--under _any_ circumstances--allowed to enter. Well, rules be damned, this is all a dream! He moves to open the door, only to begin to phase through it. Unnerved but not deterred, he makes his way inside. 

The scene playing out in front of him is one he’s unfamiliar with. Just about every “man” of the Maplecourt family is gathered in this room, all standing tensely in their black suits with red ties. At Elder Maplecourt’s chair is the direct heir to the Maplecourt estate, Edwin Bartholemous Maplecourt III. Though not the oldest of the Maplecourt family, he’s definitely the smartest and most fit to run the family estate (according to Elder Maplecourt, who bestowed him the title before death). Most of the men gathered remain absolutely silent, making the sole source of the yelling the man whose hand just slammed into the desk in front of Edwin--his father, Jerry Maplecourt. 

“What do you _mean_ we don’t get anything!?” Jerry shouts, his face nearly beet-red with fury. Edwin, on the other hand, is a cool emotionless mask as he shuffles a few papers around. 

“I do not know what else to tell you, Jerald, you’re not getting any of the inheritance.” Edwin explains calmly, shocking Fitzroy to his core. 

He knew vaguely of this moment--years later, when his mother deemed him old enough to understand--but he never thought he’d actually get to _witness_ it. The violent desperation wracking his father as he pleads with a hateful family to have enough money to live. 

“B-But we have a _child_ , Edwin!” Jerry pleads, immediately switching from anger to groveling. “H-He’s about to start _growing_ , we’ll need money for new clothes a-and shoes and school supplies and--” 

“Well, perhaps Deardra should have thought about that before making her...decision…” Edwin is swift to cut him off, eyeing Jerry up and down with palpable disdain. “The family just thinks he won’t...be enough to make up for your wife’s decision to soil the bloodline. Half-elf as he may be, he’s not _one of us_ , Jerald. We don’t _need_ him to carry on the Maplecourt lineage. To be frank, we’ve already started the process of removing Deardra from the family tree.” Jerry stands, dumbfounded, as Edwin unloads this information on him. The other family members stand silent, uncaring and unwilling to risk their fortune for a common caravaner. 

“H...How could you do this?” Jerry mutters, staring blankly at Edwin. “How could you _do_ this…? How could you _do this to YOUR OWN FAMILY!?_ ” Jerry suddenly reaches over the desk, hands moving to throttle the elf, but is quickly apprehended by the other men. They struggle with keeping him at bay as he shouts, “YOU ARE A _VILE_ MAN, EDWIN. YOU AND YER WHOLE FAMILY ARE VILE, SICK, AND _TWISTED_. FITZROY’S A _CHILD_! HOW _DARE_ YOU PUNISH A FAMILY FOR A CHILD’S EXISTENCE, YOU SICK FU--”

Everything goes dark. Fitzroy isn’t able to watch how that scene plays out, though he remembers brief flashes of his mother calmly but quickly leading Fitzroy outside where his father sat, crumpled and defeated. He remembers the long, pained look his father gave him--the exact moment he gave up on trying to make things right. 

_Funny how a man who argued so_ passionately _for your existence could leave you so quickly when the money went dry_. Chaos’s voice echoes in the darkness, and a spotlight shines down on a single scene. 

Fitzroy sits in the kitchen, eating his breakfast. His mother comes down and hugs him, weeping openly, and begins the careful process of explaining why Jerry won’t be coming home from this last caravan job. 

_He was a coward._ Chaos says, the scene going black. _He resented your existence like the family he tried so desperately to assimilate to resented his. He knew of your potential to be something entirely_ new _, and he cast it aside to have you fit a mould. And look where that mould got you!_

Suddenly, in spotlights all around him, scenes of Fitzroy’s life appear all at once. Of grade school bullies picking on him for his voice and size. Of long hours working multiple jobs just to put food on the table. Of awkward high school rejections because he never found any interest in girls. Of graduation. Getting to Clyde Nite’s and immediately feeling out of place. Of his mother begging him to come home, where he was welcome. Of Fitzroy burning that letter in a final act of separation from the life he once led. Of _everything_. 

_You let yourself be manipulated into thinking your life was so rigid! Get up, go to school, become a knight, yadda yadda yadda! But Fitzroy, you weren’t_ built _for that!_

Fitzroy turns to find Chaos and finds his reflection instead. Though his reflection only remains his for a moment before Chaos replaces it, a near-perfect replica of himself staring back at him. Fitzroy steps back, startled, as Chaos grins a shark-like grin. 

_And who would know this better than I? The one who’s been there for you since the_ beginning _! No one in the world will_ ever _understand you more than I do, Fitzroy. I_ know _the power you are capable of wielding._ Fitzroy-Chaos steps out from the mirror, making Fitzroy take another step back. Chaos notices this and laughs, a stiff mockery of his own laugh. _Come now, Fitzroy! Don’t act so coy! You know I’m right~_

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Fitzroy retorts, sounding nervous but feeling sure. “I’m perfectly--I’m perfectly _happy_ the way I am! A-And you do _not_ understand me, if you don’t understand that!” He takes another step away from Chaos, but the movement feels almost in vain. Chaos remains as close as they were before. They laugh again, this time sounding more warped. 

_Pray tell, Fitzroy, if_ I _don’t know you, then who_ does _?_ Their body contorts and widens, changing before his very eyes to the towering, lumbering mass of The Firbolg. _Is it this guy, who merely sees you as a whiny, self-absorbed brat? Or--Or is it_ Argo _?_ They take a step forward, and in that step their skin is suddenly scaly and dark blue. Fitzroy looks into their eyes and sees the face of his friend--contorted and not-exactly there--staring back. _The guy who sat and cried over your body for an hour, and now won’t leave you alone in case his savior complex needs to read you back to life or whatever! The guy you care_ so much _about, even though he probably sees you as an overpowered pain in the_ ass _\--_

“--Stop it! Tha--That’s not _true_ ! Argo and The Firbolg, they’re--they’re my _friends_ and none of your _taunts_ are going to change my mind about that!” Fitzroy cries out, pushing Chaos away with enough force to knock them to the ground. He stares at his own hands after that, shocked he could even lay hands on them, as Chaos cackles with delight. 

_See?! That’s what I’m talking about, Fitzroy!_ They cry out, now in a form similar to their first encounter. _You just pushed a_ deity _! That’s the power I_ know _you have because I_ gave _it to you!_

“All you’ve given me is magic that I hate and a splitting headache!” Fitzroy bites back. He’s fed up with this charade--this tragic glance back at his life as some sick way of folding on his decision--and is putting an end to it _now_ . “And I’ve had about enough of this, so if you could just stop this whole act and let me _wake up_ I’d really appreciate it.” He turns away from Chaos and their madness, but they’re in his face the second he finishes the motion. And they look _mad_. 

_Act? You think this is all an act? Some little_ show _I’ve been putting on for you?_ Chaos asks, their tone menacing. Fitzroy goes to step back and finds he can’t move an inch. _I hate to remind you of our last encounter, but I don’t_ need _your permission to use you as a pawn. You do enough existing, as is. I_ thought _that doing all of this for you would help you realize your true potential, but I guess we’re not there yet, are we?_ They step back and disappear, leaving Fitzroy staring at his reflection.

Only, it’s not his reflection. It’s... _his_ reflection. 

Pale, almost translucent skin wear his silk pajamas. Tired, sunken eyes stare back at him, with lavender irises and wide pupils. His hair is frizzy and stark-white. His teeth are sharp and his nose is nearly flat. 

As hard as he tries, he can’t seem to look away. 

_This is who you are under all your lies, Fitzroy._ Chaos speaks from inside his head. _If you so desperately want to lead a normal life, why don’t you lead it like this? If you think the world will love you as is, why not be yourself? ...Oh, that’s right! Because you don’t see yourself as_ this _anymore, do you?_ Fitzroy sees more than feels Chaos’s hand grip his chin, looming behind his reflection. 

_I could help you live the rest of your life_ however _you wanted. Not just as a half-elf, but an orc, an elemental, a firbolg, a tiefling--anything. You could live a hundred lives in just your tiny one if you just_ embraced _the chaos that lives within you!_ Their grip becomes harder as they speak. _But you_ won’t _because you’re afraid of it. You fear me, rather than respect me. You fear the uncertainty I bring--the disarray I welcome. And that...perhaps I will never change._ They dig sharp claws into Fitzroy and he cries out in pain. 

_Just like you can never change the changeling that lives inside you._

The last thing he sees is his changeling face smile Chaos’s smile before it all goes dark. 

\---

Fitzroy awakens with a gasp and finds himself trapped in a tangle of bedsheets. After taking a solid minute to catch his breath, he untangles himself from the covers and pounds the awaiting glass of water on his nightstand. He looks at the light shining through the slightly-parted curtains and knows it’s just past dawn. He sighs, knowing he won’t be able to get anymore sleep after _that_ , and goes into the bathroom to shower. 

He catches a glimpse of himself in his bathroom mirror and his stomach lurches. 

\---

“--and so _I_ said, ‘Well if my dead raccoon skeletons aren’t allowed here, then I’ll be taking my business elsewhere!’” Rainer’s voice fills the table as the gathered assembly laughs politely to her undead escapades. She looks around the table and her eyes reach Fitzroy, who hasn’t said a word since he sat down. She’s not even sure he’s still conscious, his eyes glazed over as he stares a hole through the table. “...Uh, Fitz? You, uh...you good?” He doesn’t respond at first, making the rest of the table look to him with concern. Argo, who’s been seated beside him and has been casting worried glances at him the entire time, finally reaches out and pokes the barbarian. 

“AH!” Fitzroy flinches at the contact, nearly punching Argo in the face. He registers the numerous stares being given and quickly composes himself. “My apologies, folks! Just, uh...just a little on-edge, as one might say.” He makes a show of delicately cutting into his now-cold crepe and takes a bite out of it, gesturing to Rainer with his fork. “Anyway, you were saying?” 

“R-Right, uh…” Rainer starts and is luckily cut off by the cafeteria Gary giving announcements. The table quickly packs up afterwards, each person giving their own concerned farewell to Fitzroy before leaving to their respective classes. Argo attempts to stick around, but sees the way Fitzroy looks hunched in on himself and decides against it. 

“I’ll see ya around, Fitz!” Argo calls out, hoping the nickname brings some sort of life back into his friend. Fitzroy waves back instinctively; Argo sighs and turns away. 

Fitzroy picks at his crepe for a few more minutes before deciding to head back to his room. As he passes, the cafeteria Gary pipes up. 

“Uh, Fitzroy?” he says, his gravelly voice almost nervous to be calling out to him. Fitzroy looks up at the Gary. “You, uh...y’know you’re gonna have to talk to Higglemas about those mirrors you smashed this morning, right…?” 

Fitzroy sighs and adjusts his cloak. 

“I’m well aware, Gary, thank you,” he replies, automatic. 

He takes the long way back to his room, carefully avoiding any reflective surfaces. When he steps inside the dorm, his room is dark. He sidesteps the glass on the ground and rolls into bed. 

Chaos doesn’t wait for him in his dreams, only his reflection. 

He isn’t sure which is worse. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this or any of my other works, then feel free to let me know on [my tumblr](https://lesbian--susie.tumblr.com/)!!!! I am always open for requests, theories, or just general clownery on there!!! Also comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


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